Five Times He Tried To Hide
by Lady Merlin
Summary: an emotional response, and the one time he didn't. Kirk-centric. May have pre-K/S. Definately has mentions of childhood abuse, death and Tarsus. Rated for anger and bad words.
1. Death

Here's _yet_ another '5+1' format! This one's called 'The Five Times Jim tried to hide an emotional response (and failed), and The One Time He didn't.' Ahahah! I'm keeping my reputation for long names! I own _nothing_! *sobs* Not even a discarded Jim-shirt! P.S. mentions of Tarsus and child-abuse----I seem to be saying that an awful lot lately, don't I? Enjoy!

1)

It was quiet after they got back on board. Really quiet. It wasn't even a peaceful quiet—it was tense, and echo-y, and completely empty, despite the 42_6_ crew members on board. _There should have been 427…_

Jim sat in his room, and tried to ignore the rage bubbling through his veins, liquid hot and roaring. He was breathing heavy, his mind still replaying the look the kid—Jason (Jason Harare; 27, Chicago-born) had on his face when the tentacle monster attacked.

It was a _classic_ tentacle monster. Slimy, green and covered with a zillion tentacles; nothing they hadn't handled before. _Then why was it, _he asked himself furiously, _why was it that he hadn't seen it coming_? Why hadn't he seen the bloody thing coming behind them after they'd killed its mate?

He _knew_ they lived in pairs, and he _knew_ they were more vicious than ever when defending their mates. He _knew _it—he'd seen these creatures on many other planets, and had many times killed them in self defense. Why the _fuck_ hadn't he thought, hadn't he even fucking _considered_?

The mate had snuck up behind them, and had taken Jason, wrapping it's _slime_ around his torso; there was no way it was letting go.

It had taken him, and it had smashed the boy against a rock, repeatedly, mutilating the body like it was a rag-doll, blood soaked and limp in a way that made him sick.

He'd seen dead people before, trust him, there was nothing new in it. But he would never get used to it. He would never get used to the way that those bodies; bodies intended to be full of life, and emotion and experience, those bodies lay there, broken, every bone shattered… every inch _violated_…

Suddenly the rage boiled over and he got up and in one smooth movement picked up a glass and threw it at a wall with as much violence as he could muster, trying to not feel the grief, aching hollow in his bones. The shards flying everywhere and the sharp sound resonated with his jagged nerves, and he closed his eyes. It felt like he had taken a small chunk of his anger and sorrow and thrown it at a wall, every inch of him crying, begging to go yell at McCoy, at Spock, at Scotty or Uhura.

But this was _his_ burden, and he would bear it on his own. He picked up another glass, fully intending for it to meet the same end as the one before, but he felt the will leave his limbs, leaving him limp and empty. He collapsed, suddenly unable to feel his legs, boneless and weak in the worst way possible. He sat there, backed against the chair, hugging his knees as his mind relentlessly played back the terrifying minutes, closing his eyes as if to escape, but only succeeding in pulling himself deeper into the nightmare.

No one would see this. No one would see their Captain broken like this. Not one.

But it wasn't that hard to hack Jim's computer and get a view through his webcam. And it didn't require much motivation. Spock and McCoy stood at the Science console, watching, making sure Jim didn't hurt himself. This guilt was undeserved—no one was to blame. But Jim would take that blame upon himself, and he would bear it so that no one else would have to, knowing but not quite acknowledging that it didn't work that way.

But they didn't see the tears as they focused on the blood that dripped from his cut palm, and for that at least, Jim was thankful.

Well? How was it? I decided that I want to post up the chapters separately. Let me know what you think, okay?

Love,

Lady Merlin


	2. Loss

Hey all! Here's the next chapter! As usual, I own nothing. :D

Jim retired to his room early that night, and no one complained. He had taken less leaves than anyone on board, including Spock (which was saying something). Obviously the call which had come in had delivered bad news, judging by the way his face paled and he sat down too fast to be 'fine'.

Later on, Spock took it upon himself to visit Jim, to make sure that he was, indeed okay. Jim was an emotional man, granted. But he kept his emotions in check. He only allowed himself slack when he couldn't control himself, and Kirk's control was comparable to his own.

He over-rode the security lock (he didn't bother knocking) and entered a room smelling strongly of bourbon. Spock heaved a mental sigh. Jim hadn't drunk much since he received his captaincy; only in instances when social niceties called for it. This in itself showed how affected Jim was.

The room was, he noticed, quite dark, and he waited for his eyes to adjust, not bothering to turn up the lights.

He saw Jim sitting in a corner of the room, as small as he could get, holding an empty bottle in his left hand. "Jim," he said, quietly. He didn't want to startle Jim, though he was sure Jim was aware of his presence.

"She left me," was his reply. Jim's voice was toneless and calm, as if he hadn't shut himself in a dark room and gotten drunk on bourbon. "She left me as a child, and she left me now. And I _hate_ her," Jim said venomously, which Spock was _not_ expecting, "I _hate_ her for abandoning me, and leaving me with Frank. And I hate her for sending me to Tarsus." Jim was definately way beyong drunk, he was inebriated, completely stoned. He spoke of Tarsus very rarely.

But Spock understood what he meant to say. Kind of. In a twisted, different angle sort of way. "But she was your mother," he said, more of a continuation to Jim's statements than a denial, or a defense. Jim hesitated, then nodded.

"She's dead," Jim confessed quietly, and Spock had already guessed it, but it was good that Jim said it himself. Spock sat down beside him, touching shoulders, because he knew Jim needed physical companionship, and not just in that way. He needed a friend, and this was a logical need which Spock was more than happy to help with.

"Frank used to beat me," Jim whispered, breath sweet and toxic. "He used to do horrible things to me. But I believed that if I kept quiet, my ma would be happy. And she'd love me more. But she never noticed how brave I was being. Never saw it as bravery. She saw it as me being a giant pain in the ass. And she always saw my dad. Never saw me as me. And I had a bad childhood. And the only one who loved me was Sam. And I loved him. But he ran away and left me alone." Jim's words were slurring, and Spock had to focus to understand him, and had to focus on his bitter words to resist the absolutely illogical urge to _hug_ the man, his best friend.

"Spock," Jim slurred. "Everyone who loved me left me. I love you, Spock. You won't leave me, will you?" Jim said Schpock rather than Spock, and Spock had no desire to correct him. His mind was still processing, when he came to a conclusion without consciously deciding it.

"I'll never leave you, Jim. I'll always be with you," he vowed to be there no matter what happened; to always be there to see these silent melt-downs because he knew that Jim truly believed he wasn't worth it, and he had to do his best to convince him otherwise.

He helped Jim into his bed, and was about to turn and leave when Jim grabbed his sleeve and help him. He placed a gentle finger on Spock's lips, and Spock felt a thrill run down his spine. "Pleashe don't tell anyone?" he asked, and Spock nodded, closing his eyes to remember that touch. Already he knew Jim was more alert and in control than he let on, but he wasn't about to point it out.

He left the room and sighed, wondering why James T. Kirk felt the need to be so strong and hide it. He was a human. He was allowed to be openly emotional. But somehow he chose not to be, and Spock couldn't help but respect him for it.

Well? I know I diverted a bit, but I couldn't help it! I love K/S! And Pre-K/S, which is what this is! Let me know what you think, okay? REVIEW!

Love,

Lady Merlin


	3. Pain

Here's the next chapter! Thanks for the brilliant response, ya'll! It totally made my day(s)! As usual, I own nothing. Oh, and my medical knowledge = ZERO, so anything and everything is fake. If you come across a dying person, do _not_, I repeat, do _not_ give them Hydrilin, if such a thing exists. I don't know what it'll do to them. And I'm sorry for the delay! Life's been a real bitch…

Warning: Much, _much_ more cursing in this one, because McCoy gets annoyed with Jim's BS. Also, I've changed the title of this one to 'The Five Times He Tried To Hide A Response (not necessarily an emotional one) And Failed'. Yupps. You'll see why. :D

Chaos reigned.

There were bodies lying everywhere, pools of blood decorating the hallways of the _Enterprise_, tinting the walls a faint pink that was completely innocent, and horrifying at the same time. McCoy was busy—insanely busy. People were coming in with horrific injuries, and he didn't have enough beds, even enough staff to handle it. They were swiftly running out of pain meds, and whatever happened, McCoy hoped that Jim got them out of it alive, and fast.

The sickbay was a room quivering with tension, silent, but so loud it was deafening. He hoped, oh, he _hoped_ Jim hadn't gotten himself into any life-threatening danger, oh _please_ no. That boy—that _man_ was too much trouble, but he was worth it, really he was. He was a brilliant Captai—_shit!_ "Two amps of hydrilin here!" a nurse ran over, passing him the soft bag and leaving swiftly to attend to someone else from engineering. The sickbay was _drowning_ in whiny engineers. He _hated_ engineers; they liked to change stuff…

He couldn't think; couldn't afford to think about Jim, so he thought about anything but that. If he did he'd sink into panic, and people would die. That was _unacceptable_.

After things had quieted down a little, he leaned back against a wall and took a long draught from his hip flask. His nerves needed it…

Suddenly his mind returned to Jim; he hadn't seen hide or hair of Jim since… since the blast…

_A fiery explosion, burning into space where nothing was supposed to burn… deadly shrapnel flying around at deadly velocities, unhindered by air-resistance, or by anything that came in their way, including soft bodies, which they cut through like a hot knife through butter…_

McCoy shivered as this thought processed, and was suddenly filled by a desperate desire to see Jim; to make sure he was alive, if not well.

But just then he received a message from Spock; Jim was on the bridge, and could he please come, because something might be wrong.

McCoy didn't hesitate. Cold blooded and pointy eared he might be, but Spock was no fool, and rarely ever wrong (he'd never really admit that. _Ever_). He made his way to the bridge, carrying a first aid kit so if Spock was wrong he'd be able to leave under the pretense of finding more injured people.

He found himself on the bridge, fixing some minor injuries on Chekov and Uhura, who had been nearest to the site when the explosion had happened. He still couldn't get this niggling feeling out of his head, that he was _supposed_ to know something, but he didn't know what, exactly… Spock had a similar (he supposed) look on his face. Or in his eyes. Whatever, he could just tell Spock was thinking the same thing. And suddenly his communicator beeped.

It was a list of the people who'd been on the wing that had exploded, near the generator that had malfunctioned.

_BlahblahblahblahJimKirkBlahBlahBl—_What?!

"Jim, you _moron_!" McCoy spat, leaving the sore-but-well Chekov on a chair. Jim looked at him, eyes not focusing, and smiled. Uhura started, and Spock seemed to realise what had happened—what has just slipped by them.

"Hey, Bones." God_damn_it, he was hurt. He was hurt somewhere and he wasn't saying. "I'm fine. Don't worry. Just help Sulu first."

"Fuck it, Jim, where the _fuck_ are you hurt?" Normally it was a principle of McCoy's. Don't curse. God was fine, but there was nothing funny about fucking around, and nothing light either. He knew, because his wife had done just that, and there was nothing that could describe the feeling. But this moment transcended principles.

Spock had moved over, and was crouching beside the Captain's chair, making sure. Just making sure.

Suddenly a comm. Link flickered to life, and Admiral Jraha, a pretty dark-blue Andorian appeared on the cracked screen. "Report, Captain Kirk. What is the condition of your ship?"

Jim opened his mouth to reply, and god knows what he would have said (considering, you know, the pools of blood and dead bodies and stuff) but McCoy couldn't have cared less. This was _his_ best friend, acting like nothing was wrong, and like a complete moron in general.

He turned to the screen and raised a hand, "Wait," he said, commanding the stunned Admiral (later he would doubt his sanity) and turning to poke and prod Jim. Jim looked lightly amused, but still unable to focus. Spock hadn't bothered to look up. Now he too, was checking for injuries. McCoy sighed. This shit would be a lot easier if Jim just fucking told them where his _fucking_ injury was, so they could _**fucking**_ get it over with! And then, Jim hissed as Spock prodded him on the side of his torso, and promptly collapsed into McCoy's waiting arms.

It was _horrific_.

His entire right side and back were peppered with pieces of metal shrapnel, and bleeding like there was no tomorrow. Admiral Jraha paled and said, "You guys need help. Sending ships for backup, now. Expect the U.S.S. _Endeavor_ and the _Journey_ to rendezvous in two hours. Jraha out."

The comm. Link died and Jim sighed. "Now look what you did. They'll think I'm incompetent…" He trailed off as McCoy jabbed him with a convenient knock out hypo, and fell limply to the floor.

McCoy said in explanation, as if he had to explain; "I don't think I could stand any more of his self-depreciating crap right now…" Spock all-but-nodded in agreement, as did majority of the bridge-crew. Those who didn't agree weren't conscious.

It was impossible to imagine that people had fallen unconscious with the pain of _one_ shard of shrapnel, and this man, this_**idiot**_ had remained conscious, coherent and _avoided_ medical attention with around _twenty_.

_Damn_it Jim, McCoy thought angrily, as he tried (and failed) to lug Jim's body to the sick bay without further shredding his body. Thank god they had that perceptive hobgoblin on the bridge. For once McCoy was glad for Spock's presence—if not for him, no one would take care of Jim, cuz they'd fall for his heroic, manly and eventually _dead_ BS.

Jim was eventually okay, though he had some very interesting scars there (which Spock pointed out, and McCoy _really_ didn't want to know how Spock knew that. Really) and he walked with a slight limp for the next month.

Who wasn't okay? The rest of the bridge crew, that's who. It was more than a little disturbing; their captain's weird self-not-caring-ness, if such a thing existed. It was so strange, that even later on, when Jim admitted that he had _known_ the wounds were potentially fatal, he hadn't come for help.

Years (and several similar instances) later, McCoy finally asked him why.

"It's like this, Bones. I'm a Captain, as I'm sure you know (McCoy rolled his eyes, hard) and I have to make choices. Either I tell you that I'm hurt, and you being an idiot and loving me more than I'm worth, and me being a Captain, I'd be treated first. Or I let you deal with twenty other people first. But the thing is, I can handle the pain, and pretty damn well. And my life is _not_ worth more than anyone else's, under any circumstances. And I'm needed elsewhere. I'm counting on that to get me through, and the thing is, it usually does. I can pull through, and twenty lives are saved every twenty minutes I hang on, because we all know you love me too much to maintain your judgment. Everything works out, right?"

"Except for the fact you could have fucking _died_," McCoy interjects, angry now. Furious and terrified that it'll get Jim killed.

"That," Jim replies softly, "is a risk I'm willing to take."

And it's the end of the conversation, and McCoy has been dismissed, and he storms off, unable to imagine how to get that blithering idiot to be so _logical_ (because that's what he was. None of his statements could be refuted) and have some sense of self-preservation, _damn_it.

It still plagues him; why Jim hides pain. It's not like he needs to—the world knows he's strong as hell. And more women would be melting into little puddles if he could be a bit sensitive and feeling-ly (his daughter said it, not him), not that he needed more. But he hides it, and McCoy worries.

Well? I know I got distracted. Pain is, technically, a response right? (if not an emotional one…) The long chappie is to make up for my absence (smirk) missed me? REVIEW!!!

Love,

Lady Merlin


	4. Nightmare

Hey everyone! I'm really sorry for the incredible delay! I've had a b***h of a life, and I'm practically dying to sleep, but I _have_ to get this out. It's been eating my brains alive, so here goes. Forgive any structural issues; I blame them on the lack of sleep and my general lack of coherence at the moment. :D

General disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warning: may be OOC, but not if I can help it. K/S in this one.

Jim woke in the night, breathing hard for all the wrong reasons. His bed was cold, as was his room, and he began to shiver as the sweat began to dry on his bare skin. He was struck by a bout of nausea, and lurched out of bed, fully intending to rush for the toilet, but it passed, leaving him weak in the knees.

Without being able to really help it, he sank to his knees, suddenly remembering what had ripped him from his sleep so violently.

_An entire landscape, ground soaked with blood. Bodies lying on the ground, in piles, unburied. A group of men walking across the makeshift graveyard, toeing bodies and taking from them all they owned, including the clothes on their backs. Clinical precision in removing everything of worth, from the most valuable to the least, apparently unconcerned that these were bodies they were robbing. _

_Hiding amongst the bodies, lying perfectly still while they touched him, took from him his remaining food and identity card, leaving him his shorts but taking his shirt. _

_Shivering in the cold, alone, stench of death…_

Jim shivered again. He couldn't stand it. He had to do something. Now. He had to move before the memory consumed him. Move as far as he could from this empty room, and cold bed. This was not a new experience, but it never got old. It was never the same memory, never predictable. Even in the dream he knew it was a dream, but he could never remember what came next; his consciousness has purged the memory from his accessible databanks, but it was scribed in his mind, a part of him.

He splashed his face with ice-cold water, and brushed his teeth to purge the nausea. He dressed and walked out, not bothering to check what time it was.

_He was in control of his emotions,_ he told himself. _Completely in control. He would not be shaken by the past_, but his fingers refused to shop trembling.

He walked, consumed by his thought of _not_ thinking, and found himself in the observatory.

Only one light was on, and he didn't turn on the others. This was the one place which could distract him; the endless beauty of the stars always gave him hope.

He sat cross-legged by the glass panels, and watched without a word, not thinking.

Meanwhile, McCoy woke up to an incessant beeping sound. He rolled out of bed grumbling, and whacked his alarm clock. But the beeping continued, and he realised that it was his computer, reporting sleep irregularities of one of the bridge crew. It was some new duty he had been assigned, some stuck up moron admiral who thought CMO's had nothing better to do…

But the signal was Jim's. It was a Deep Sleep disturbance, which was abnormal in itself, but suddenly the signal died. The only way that could have happened was if _Jim_ died, or if he had gotten up and walked out of the room. McCoy doubted Jim was dead, so he had to be somewhere else, and he needed to make sure Jim was okay.

The thing about Jim was that he was a very private sort of guy, despite his outward bubbly-ness. There was little anyone knew about his childhood, and past, apart from the fact that his father had died as he was born. That had definitely caused some issues, but nothing observable.

The kind of disturbance that woke you from _deep_ sleep was serious, and he was pretty sure Jim had regular nightmares, but never completely sure, because he never stayed for complete cycles on the sickbay. He always vanished half-way, to do something or other.

He pushed himself out of bed and went to look for that giant idiot. He hated getting up at odd hours, and he hated administering the surprise-hypo (as Jim had named it) but he would do both for that idiot friend of his, because try as he might, he wasn't hiding whatever it was very well. Yeah, see? That's what happened to his coherence at that time in the night? Morning. Fan_tastic_.

For the umpteenth, and certainly not the last time, he thanked god for the invention of the tricorder. It was probably the dandiest object he owned, _and_ it helped him find Jim, who was harder to locate than a needle in a damned haystack, and slippery-er than an Alaskan eel. Did Alaska have eels? Nevermind. Jim was in the observatory.

Jim was at peace, for the first time in a long time. Somehow sitting there had given him the chance to reconsider. He didn't feel like he was going to throw up anymore, under the weight of panic and stuff. The _wurbling_ in his stomach had stopped, and there were no more acid-splashes up his chest. He felt really good… he could get used to it, as long as he didn't think about… _it_.

McCoy walked in behind him, followed by Spock who had been aroused from his sleep by McCoy slamming his door shut, two doors away.

"Hey," Jim said softly, and both men jumped (only Spock didn't show it). He had seen them in the glass of the windows. Once again Jim had proven himself to be extraordinarily observant.

Spock replied, "Greetings," and McCoy just nodded.

"What's up?" he asked, and McCoy opened his mouth to no doubt begin his rant.

Spock stopped him. "Your nightmare caused a disturbance in the sleep monitors, which woke the Doctor, who in turn woke me." If Spock were human he's have been glaring at McCoy, but he wasn't, and yet Bones felt it. "Are you well?"

Jim smiled softly, a different smile than they'd ever seen before. There was something soft and sadder about his smile, and it cut straight to Bones' heart.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Do not, as the Doctor puts it, fiddle with bovine excrement. Is this translation appropriate?" Spock asked, and Jim and Bones simultaneously burst out laughing, and Spock allowed himself a hint of satisfaction, which most definitely was not a feeling.

Bones took Jim's temperature and administered cough syrup, 'so the moron can get some damn sleep and not die on the bridge tomorrow,' and left. Spock remained.

"Would you like to communicate why your deep sleep cycle was roused abruptly as such?"

"Bones put you up to this, didn't he?" Jim asked, not looking away from the glass.

"He reasoned that you were more likely to talk when he wasn't losing his mind with worry over you. A most quaint expression, but I must confess to some concern regarding your sleeping habits. It takes a very devastating nightmare to wake a human from deep sleep. It is why Vulcans meditate, so that they do not dream."

Jim looked up. "You can get rid of it?" he asked, sounding almost… hopeful. Spock nodded. "Can you teach me?"

"I have found that many human minds are not suited for meditation, rebelling in every way against the restraints meditation puts in place. However I would not be averse to an attempt, if it in any way bettered your well-being, Captain."

Jim smiled. "Thanks, Spock. It means a lot. It's just that well. My childhood wasn't the best time of my life." He was omitting many emotions and details, but Spock would have the skeleton first, and didn't interrupt. "I had some down-right bad times, and uhh. They're hard to forget. Yeah." His voice was not steady, shaking with emotion. He took a deep shuddering breath, hating that he couldn't control himself fully in front of Spock. Spock looked away politely, but observed from a corner of his eye.

"Anyway," Jim continued. "I'm gonna go to sleep. I'll meet you for dinner tomorrow? Won't talk about it on the bridge; there's enough rumours about us anyway. Thanks, Spock." He raised a hand to Spock's shoulder, and seemed to think better of it.

Spock noticed the tremble in Jim's hand, the quaver he suppressed by clasping his hands behind his back, as quickly as possible. It was shaking almost violently, as if Jim's body was attempting to get rid of a persistent and nagging cold. He decided something on the spot.

He reached out and his fingers circled Jim's surprisingly small wrist, his little finger brushing Jim's palm; Jim stilled, surprised by the obviously intimate gesture. His trembling stopped. "I am here should you need me, Jim. I always have been and always will be." He stepped close to Jim, telling himself that it wasn't for his enjoyment, it was because Jim was a physical being who communicated via gestures and expressions and touch.

Jim leaned in slightly, and Spock leaned in as well, neither of them fully in control of their ever-so-slight movements. Jim could smell Spock's clean sweet smell, and Spock could smell Jim's surprisingly light aftershave, and it was a warm hazy enveloping heat that radiated from his body. There was an almost irresistible temptation to lean in, just a little closer and touch bare skin, and it was so hard to breathe and—

Jim broke away, and Spock knew what he had done was right, but couldn't help but feel empty? This would be meditated over. But for now, "Good Night, Jim."

Jim grinned; it was the first time Spock had called him that. "Night Spock. See ya tomorrow."

Spock nodded; it was all he could do.

Well? Yeahyeah I know, it's supposed to be emo beaten up Jim, but I couldn't resist K/S! How is it? REVIEW!!

Love,

Lady Merlin


End file.
